their war with Iraq. But with the Rodina’s full aerial resources brought to
bear those defenses would soon be neutralized.
“I want the efforts redoubled, Korotich. Continual strikes into that
area, until those SAMs are out of action. Even if you have to burn up half
the planes in the theater doing it.”
“Yes, Comrade General.”
“I want the path cleared for an airborne landing near the coast in two
days, Korotich. By this time Saturday I want a full regiment on the ground
within the Norwegian defensive perimeter.” His finger stabbed at the map
spread out on his desk, indicating the region where Soyuz aircraft had
previously reported success in reducing Norwegian defenses. “Here … at
Brekke.”
Korotich examined the map and nodded solemnly. “Da … Brekke. That
will distract the RNA forces defending the line between the Sognefjorden and
the road junction at Gol. A sound plan, Comrade General.”
“They will do more than distract, Boris Ilyavich. At the same time you
relay those orders, you will also order all amphibious forces and naval
infantry to assemble. Within twenty-four hours after Brekke is secured from
the air, we will pour every man we can transport by sea into that position.
They will be less than a hundred kilometers from Bergen, and squarely across
the line of retreat for the Norwegians around the Sognefjord. That will
produce the breakthrough we need.”
Korotich nodded again. “It will be difficult to assemble some of the
forces, Comrade General, but I think the bulk of them can be en route in
time.”
Vorobyev gave him a cold smile. “Tell any officer who does not think he
can have his men moving in time that he will answer to me. In person … and
in full.”
Now was the time to strike. Now, while the Americans were reeling from
their defeat, the new Soviet Union would reclaim its proper place in the
world. Norway would break, and the rest of Scandinavia after it. Then Europe
would face the full weight of Russia’s military securely placed in a flanking
position that rendered useless its traditional defensive lines in Germany.
All it would take was one final push, and the humiliations of a decade
would vanish forever.
CHAPTER 20
Friday, 13 June, 1997
1145 hours Zulu (1145 hours Zone)
Air Wing Intelligence office, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
In the Southern Norwegian Sea
“So what you’re telling me is that we can predict what they’re going to
do, but we can’t do a hell of a lot about it.” Tombstone Magruder massaged
his forehead with both hands. He had been awake most of the night going over
every aspect of the military situation, but all he had to show for his work
was a pile of file folders on his desk and a headache ten times worse than any
he’d ever suffered from G-forces in a fighter cockpit.
“I can’t speak for what we can do, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Arthur Lee
replied. “But yes, we’ll see what they’re up to. Satellite recon will be
able to monitor the bastards, and I’m confident we can sort out any decoy
operations.”
Since the fighting the day before, Jefferson had continued on course into
the Norwegian Sea, but cautiously, carefully. ASW forces had flushed six more
subs in that time, with two more confirmed kills and the others either knocked
out or driven off. Magruder’s involvement in the submarine-hunting had been
peripheral at best, but each reported contact had brought back thoughts of
Gridley’s destruction. No number of successes could erase that first
disastrous failure.
Through the night hours Commander Lee had been working with Aiken’s OZ
division to analyze every scrap of available intelligence data. Satellite
recon images had been tracking some major Russian activity overnight, and now
Lee was prepared to make solid preparations concerning enemy activity in
Scandinavia.
The most noticeable development was the increased naval activity along
the coast. Photographs taken by an orbiting KEYHOLE spy satellite had tracked
nearly fifty ships gathering near Trondheim. Some were clearly warships,
centered around the powerful helicopter cruiser Kiev. But the majority had
been identified as troop carriers, ranging from two Ivan Rogov-class LSDs to a
mixed bag of smaller LSTs and several freighters plainly pressed from civilian